


Almost Too Late

by Guanin



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Based on the deleted scene in 1800, Happy Ending, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 16:16:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19299286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: "We’re bringing you home back to Heaven,” Gabriel told Aziraphale as if these were the greatest news in the world.Aziraphale’s own smile withered on his face. This… Couldn’t be. They couldn’t take him away from his bookshop before he even had a chance to open it. It wasn’t fair. He had worked so hard for this. And what about Crowley? He couldn’t just leave! How much time would pass before he got a chance to see Crowley again? Would he even see him again?





	Almost Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on one of the scenes that was tragically cut from the script. I've reproduced all the dialogue between Aziraphale, Gabriel, and Sandalphon, so there's no need to have read the scene beforehand to understand this story.

It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. Aziraphale stood outside of a pretty, new two story building. Inviting, glass-windowed storefront. His name on the door. Well, an abbreviation of his name more palatable for the humans milling around him on this busy London street. 

_Mr. A. Fell_ , it read. _Purveyor of Books to the Gentry, Established 1800_

His shop. His new bookshop. Not that he wished to sell many of the books housed within, or any, if he could help it, not after carefully curating his collection after so many years. But he had always enjoyed the ambiance of a good bookshop. The musty smell of old pages, weathered by time and eager hands. The lines of stacks, each bearing hundreds of treasures to be uncovered. And there would only be treasures in his shop, not that penny dreadful rubbish. A wise and erudite bookseller who knew every detail of the books in his shop. Now Aziraphale could be that bookseller. He could talk to his heart’s content to interested parties and not worry about “boring people to death”, as certain rude individuals had so malignantly accused him of. Crowley, at least, had the decency not to say such a thing outright, except for his pointed comments about falling asleep while trying to read and attempts to change the subject when Aziraphale carried on for too long. Yet there were other times when Crowley did let him carry on, silent and with nary a complaint, even if he looked a tad less than enthusiastic. Aziraphale took pity on him when he noticed, apologizing for boring him and changing to something that they both enjoyed, like the theater. 

He didn’t anticipate Crowley spending much time in his bookshop. But he would at least come to the grand opening and celebrate alongside him. He had already said that he was coming. It was only a few days away. Aziraphale best get to it, then.

Some hours later, he was still happily stocking the shelves with books. He had been accumulating crates of them through the centuries, and now he could finally have then all out at the same time. The bell above the door dinged behind him as someone pushed it open. 

“I am afraid the shop will not be open until Friday, good people,” Aziraphale called without turning around. “But we will be having a grand opening immediately after lunch.”

“We aren’t here to buy books, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale froze, a book half raised toward the stack. Carefully putting it on the shelf, he turned around and tried his utmost not to look guilty or to let his eyes widen in trepidation as he was met by the sight of Gabriel and Sandalphon standing just inside the door, dressed in stylish human attire. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale murmured, folding his hands in front of him. “Oh, dear. Listen, if it’s about that business in Paris, um, it wasn’t my miracle.”

“I have no idea whereof you speak,” Gabriel said, “oh Angel of the Eastern Gate. We are here with good news.”

Gabriel extended his hands outward with a bright grin. Aziraphale relaxed, smiling back. He wasn’t in trouble.

“Oh! How lovely.”

“We’re bringing you home.”

What?

“Promoting you back upstairs,” Sandalphon said, grinning just as widely.

Aziraphale’s own smile withered on his face. This… Couldn’t be. 

“I’m opening this bookshop on Friday,” he said, barely aware that he was even doing so. “If Master Hatchard can make a go of it, then I think I can really…”

“It’s an excellent idea,” Gabriel said, looking around. “Whoever replaces you down here can obviously use it as a base of operations.”

“Use my bookshop?”

This wasn’t happening. They couldn’t take him away from his bookshop before he even had a chance to open it. It wasn’t fair. He had worked so hard for this. And what about Crowley? He couldn’t just leave! How much time would pass before he got a chance to see Crowley again? Would he even see him again? Surely, Aziraphale’s own wishes should be taken into account in this catastrophic decision.

“You’re being promoted,” Gabriel said, emphasizing the word as if Aziraphale was having trouble hearing it properly. “You get to come home.”

“I can’t imagine why anyone,” Sandalphon said in disgust, “would want to spend five minutes longer in this world than they had to.”

Gabriel turned to him.

“Aziraphale has been here for almost 6000 years,” he said it as if the very idea horrified him. “We must applaud such devotion to duty.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest that he couldn’t simply up and leave when Gabriel took a small, slender box from his pocket. He opened it to reveal a golden medal on a blue ribbon. 

“And it hasn’t gone unnoticed,” Gabriel said, acting as if this should be Aziraphale’s greatest joy. 

How could Aziraphale possibly be happy to be given a medal while being banished from his home?

“I don’t want a medal,” he said.

“That’s very noble of you.”

No, Aziraphale hadn’t meant to sound modest and self-sacrificing. Hell, this was going all wrong. 

A movement behind Aziraphale and Sandalphon caught his eye. Oh, no. Crowley was here. Just outside the open door, waving at him without a care in the world. At any moment, the angels might turn around and see him standing there. Get away, you fool!

Wait. Crowley. They wouldn’t make him leave if they believed that they needed him to combat the demonic adversary. 

“But only I can properly thwart the wiles of the demon Crowley,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley stopped smiling. It looked like he was finally getting an idea about the seriousness of the situation he’d almost stumbled into, wasn’t he? He was pointing to a package he held, mouthing a word. Chocolates? Oh dear Lord. He wasn’t getting an idea at all. Now was no time for treats. 

“I have no doubt that whoever replaces you,” Gabriel said, “will be as good an enemy to Crowley as you are. Michael, perhaps.”

Michael fighting Crowley? Perish the thought. Crowley was just as appalled by this as Aziraphale, although at least he had the luxury of looking it, while Aziraphale had to maintain an impassive expression. “Michael’s a wanker”, Crowley mouthed at him. Aziraphale wasn’t fond of that word, but he had to agree. Michael was just as vainglorious as Gabriel, which was saying a lot. 

“Crowley’s been down here just as long as I have,” Aziraphale said, firm. “And he’s wily, and cunning, and brilliant, and oh…”

What else could he say about Crowley to convince them? The angels’ eyes narrowed as they peered at him. Fear fluttered in Aziraphale’s stomach. Why were they doing that?

“It almost sounds like you like him,” Gabriel said, his voice low and suspicious.

Aziraphale gulped. 

“I loathe him,” Aziraphale said vehemently. “And, despite myself, I respect a worthy opponent…” 

Gabriel and Sandalphon narrowed their eyes at him even further. Oh, dear. God Almighty, no.

“Which he isn’t,” Aziraphale added quickly, “because he’s a demon and I cannot respect a demon. Or like one.”

That sounded properly disgusted enough, didn’t it? 

“That’s the attitude I like to hear,” Gabriel said, brightening. “You’ll be an asset back at head office, I can tell you that.”

Even Sandalphon was smiling again in approval. And Crowley had disappeared, safely out of harm’s way. It took an immeasurable amount of strength for Aziraphale to maintain his stony countenance and not sag in relief. Taking the medal out of its box, Gabriel stepped forward. Aziraphale lowered it so that he could place it around his neck. It was rather nice once you looked at it up close. Crossed wings joined by a heart, just like his signet ring. How could something so pretty feel like a shackle clenched around his throat? He forced a smile, making sure that it reached his eyes.

“So,” he said, trying to sound casual and eager. “We’re going straight back now? Before the grand opening?”

“Well, soon,” Gabriel said.

Soon?

“We’re just going to,” Gabriel continued, “stroll down to Cork Street to see my tailor.”

Oh. So, one trip to the tailor and they would be back to collect him. His life on Earth would be over.

“Alright,” he uttered, barely aware of doing so.

Gabriel grinned at him before turning around.

“See you soon,” he said. “You have a bright future ahead of you.”

Gabriel and Sandalphon left through the open door. The instant they crossed the street, Aziraphale’s knees gave out and he almost fell to the floor. This couldn’t be happening. His time on Earth couldn’t just end. And not like this, with no warning. He was supposed to be opening a bookshop. And Crowley... As relieved as Aziraphale had been for Crowley to leave before the angels could see him, if he didn’t return immediately, Aziraphale wouldn’t get a chance to say good-bye to him. How could he depart from the Earth without doing so? That would be monstrous. 

Shaking, Aziraphale rushed outside and looked around, raising his head above the milling crowds, bumping into people, but he couldn’t see Crowley anywhere. Had he just ducked out of sight, or had he really just left? But he had heard Gabriel. He knew that Aziraphale was being forced to go. Surely, he wouldn’t just abandon him without a proper farewell. He had brought him chocolates, for Heaven’s sake. A cry of despair escaped Aziraphale’s throat as he ducked back into the shop and shut the door behind him, falling against it, head dropping into his hands. The medal he’d been given hung heavily on his chest. He yanked it off and put it on the closest table. He shouldn’t have made himself sound so competent in his reports to head office. This was all his fault. He’d just wanted to do a good job, not be promoted. Turning, he cast one more, despairing glance out the window. Still no Crowley. Where the Hell had that demon gone? 

Aziraphale went over to a packing box and dug around until he found a sheet of paper. Grabbing it, he went to his desk and dropped into a chair. He would have to pen Crowley a farewell letter. He hoped that Crowley would return before Gabriel did, but if he didn’t, Aziraphale wouldn’t have him think that he didn’t care enough to say good-bye. Even if Crowley himself had deemed it all well and good to vanish at a time like this. Picking up his quill, he poised it over the paper.

What should he write? Which of the many emotions churning in his chest should he commit to paper? Crowley and he had never spoken about feelings towards each other. They expressed mutual respect and enjoyment of each other’s company, but being open enough to confess affection wasn’t something either of them had been comfortable with. Aziraphale had tried too hard to keep an emotional distance from Crowley, demon Crowley, yet he had merely failed to give voice to the emotions burrowed in his heart despite himself.

_My dear Crowley,_

_I do hope that you have been called away for something important. If not, I will be very cross with you. In the possible case that you do not return in time to see me off, I wish to express my farewells to you on paper. As you heard, I’m being called away back to Heaven. Apparently, I have been padding my reports too well and they’ve given me a promotion. I did not ask for one. I never would have knowingly done anything to jeopardize my assignment here on Earth. Near you._

Aziraphale’s hand shook. He cast a quick miracle to fix the wobbly letters in those last, two words. He sucked in a deep, painful breath. He should be saying this in person, not like this.

_Your companionship has been one of the greatest pleasures of my life on Earth. If I’m being perfectly honest, which I must now, as I might not get another chance, it has been my greatest pleasure. Our conversations bring me immeasurable joy. My one regret is that I have not sought you out more often through the years and that our encounters were so sporadic for so long._

The quill hovered over the paper. Aziraphale licked his bottom lip, breath held in his throat. He might not get another chance to say this. He couldn’t be such a coward as to hesitate now.

_I will, of course, endeavor to acquire whatever temporary mission on Earth I might be able to, but I do not know when I’ll be able to see you again._

Not “if”. He must not say “if”. “If” was unacceptable. 

_I do not wish to leave you for so long without telling you the truth. I hope that my affection for you has always been clear, that I haven’t needed to put it into words for you to understand what I feel for you, but, just in case, I am compelled to do so now. I love you. I can’t recall when I first became aware of it or even when it began, but that doesn’t matter. I think that you love me, too. Even if your sudden disappearance brings it into question._

Aziraphale chuckled. The laugh was raspy and hollow, in his throat.

_That was a joke. Although you better have a good reason for that. But, in all seriousness, I see how you look at me sometimes. And I notice how patient you are with me when I go on about books, even though the subject bores you. And how you enjoy watching me eat. It touches me, these little things. I will miss them. I will miss you._

Aziraphale’s hand trembled, dropping a drop of ink on the paper. He wiped it away with a jerky wave of his hand. The letter must be perfect. Not a smudge or a letter out of place. He tried to clear his throat, but it was folly to hope that he could get rid of the aching tightness in it so easily. Maybe he could beg Gabriel. Come up with some reason why it must be he who thwarted Crowley’s wiles. But he had already come so close to giving himself away while complimenting Crowley’s powers. Too close. If he gave them away, it wouldn’t be only his existence on the line. Hell would catch wind of it and destroy Crowley. No. He must endure this for both of them. He couldn’t do anything to risk Crowley’s safety. 

_All my love,_

_Your Aziraphale_

Trembling, Aziraphale grabbed an envelope and slipped the letter inside. He sealed it, wrote Crowley’s name on it, and cast a complex miracle on it that ensured that only Crowley would be able to see it. He couldn’t have an angel coming across it. He sat back and shut his eyes, fighting back the tears stinging them. It would not do for Gabriel to find him crying. What excuse could Aziraphale possibly give to justify it? With a weary sigh, he reached for the medal and slipped it back on his neck, grimacing at the weight of it. 

`````````````````````

A little under an hour later, Gabriel and Sandalphon pushed open the door again. Aziraphale looked up from the letter he clutched in his hands at the sound of the bell. Crowley hadn’t returned. Aziraphale would be leaving without seeing him again. Summoning all his strength, he placed the sealed envelope on the desk and pushed himself to his feet to receive the angels by the entrance. Gabriel wore a new, blue-grey suit. It became him very well, but Aziraphale couldn’t spare more than a second’s energy to dwell on this. 

“I’m afraid we have bad news,” Gabriel said, grimacing in the awkward way that people did when announcing something truly appalling.

 _God give me strength_ , Aziraphale prayed.

“What is it?” he asked.

“You’re going to have to stay on Earth. So sorry about that. I know you were very excited to finally get to leave this place, but there’s nothing for it.”

Aziraphale gaped at him. Was this a joke? Gabriel had been so adamant before. Could this possibly be true?

“So,” Aziraphale said, licking his dry lips trying not to look hopeful. “I’m not going anywhere?”

Gabriel and Sandalphon shook their heads with expressions of deep condolences.

“Change of plans,” Gabriel said. “We need you here. In your bookshop. Battling evil.”

Gabriel grinned and punched Aziraphale on the arm in comradery. It hurt, but Aziraphale didn’t dare wince. 

“Carry on battling,” Sandalphon said.

He wasn’t going to punch him too, was he? No, he was staying back. Good.

“Keep the medal,” Gabriel said.

“But,” Aziraphale said, lost for words. “I don’t understand.”

The angels popped away, returning to Heaven. Aziraphale stared at the empty space they used to inhabit. This was… real? He was staying? No one would make him leave Crowley? 

A cry of joy and shock escaped his lips. He covered his mouth with his hands as if Gabriel might come back at any moment and hear it. But he wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t the sort for a practical joke such as this. Aziraphale really could stay. A laugh bubbled in his throat as he took off the medal and put it down on the closest, flat surface. He was staying. He bounced on his feet, clapping his hands in ecstasy. A passerby looked at him oddly, but who cared? Now where was Crowley? He had to tell him. Where the devil had he run off to, anyway?

A couple of minutes later, Crowley strolled through the door, nonchalant, package still in hand. 

“The angels are gone, right?” he asked, sniffing the air.

Aziraphale rushed over from the stack he had been sorting, almost flying in his haste.

“Finally!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been going mad waiting for you. Where did you go? You heard them. They were going to take me away back to Heaven.”

Why was Crowley grinning?

“Changed their mind, didn’t they?” Crowley said, holding out the box. “I brought these to celebrate you finally opening your shop after so many years of going on about it, but it’s got a dual purpose now.”

Aziraphale gaped at him. Good Heavens. Why hadn’t Aziraphale considered… Of course. Why else would Crowley leave knowing that Aziraphale was about to be taken away?

“You did something, didn’t you?” Aziraphale asked, awed. “You changed Gabriel’s mind.”

Crowley shrugged, but his grin widened, practically preening.

“You completely botched convincing him that you need to stick around to thwart me, so I did a better job of it.”

Joy burst through Aziraphale’s being. Crowley had done this for him. Of course he had. How could Aziraphale have possibly doubted him for a moment? Without even thinking, Aziraphale rushed forward and grabbed Crowley in a hug, clutching him tightly to him. Crowley froze beneath him. Oh, did he not like this? Aziraphale should have asked permission first. He drew back, chagrined, yet still so happy that he couldn’t keep his smile off his face, even to apologize.

“Forgive me,” Aziraphale said. “I only wished to thank you.”

“It’s fine,” Crowley said haltingly, looking as startled as could be. He held the box in suddenly jerky fingers in front of him. “You could have just… stayed. In the hug.”

Oh. Aziraphale wished that he hadn’t pulled away now. But if he came in for another hug now, might that not be odd? They didn’t have a habit of hugging often, even after not seeing each other for decades. The last time he could recall was 1549, while carousing in an ill-planned pub crawl in Southwark, blindingly drunk. Aziraphale held out a hand for the box instead. Crowley handed it over with an expression of relief. Aziraphale wished that he would take off his dark glasses. There were no humans around. No need for him to hide away his eyes, while Aziraphale did have a need to know precisely what he was thinking. 

“How did you manage it?” Aziraphale asked, turning over the box in his hands like Crowley had been doing.

“I snuck into the alleyway behind Gabriel’s tailor shop, dressed up a dummy in a hooded cloak, and pretended that he was a fellow demon. I made sure that Gabriel was spying on me through the window and moaned about how miserable I was about you thwarting me all the time. How you’re the only one who knows my evil ways well enough to do it and how relieved I was that you were finally leaving so I could have free reign. Gabriel folded like a pack of cards, didn’t he?

“He certainly did. He said that I have to stay here and fight evil. What a brilliant idea, Crowley. I’m so grateful. I don’t know what I would have done with myself if I had been forced to leave.”

Crowley sniffed the air, his tongue flicking out for a second as he looked around Aziraphale at his desk. More specifically, at the envelope atop it.

“What’s that?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale had forgotten all about it. He hadn’t planned on giving it to Crowley anymore. The bits where he recriminated Crowley for leaving were certainly not appropriate anymore, but Crowley was already walking towards the desk and picking up the letter.

“It’s got my name on it,” he said, turning to Aziraphale, who rushed to join him. “Did you write me a letter?”

Aziraphale wringed his hands in front of him before forcing them down at his sides, the itchy fluttering of nerves curdling his stomach. Had he not been most regretful about not confessing his feelings to Crowley before? Now he had a chance to. A second chance which Crowley himself had gifted him with. He shouldn’t waste it.

“Yes,” he said. “In case I didn’t see you before Gabriel returned. I think, perhaps, you should still read it.”

Aziraphale sounded awfully nervous, didn’t he? Crowley certainly picked up on it, for his brow furrowed.

“You could just tell me what it says,” he said, slowly, wondering.

Aziraphale shook his head.

“I would rather you read it. Please.”

He couldn’t do Crowley justice if he tried to speak now. Taking off his glasses, Crowley dropped them on the desk and ripped into the envelope, taking out the letter. Aziraphale clutched his left writs behind his back, struggling not to shuffle his feet as Crowley read or to stare too openly. He could tell what part Crowley was on by the shifting expressions on his face. His brow smoothed out as confusion gave way to wonder, then to something that Aziraphale feared to decipher lest he was wrong. Crowley’s eyes widened and his lips parted, his fingers tightening on the paper. The letter shook as he lowered it and looked at Aziraphale, his expression more open and raw that Aziraphale had ever seen it.

“I meant every word,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley huffed. It wasn’t quite a laugh or a sigh, but an ebullient, shocked mix of both.

“I know you did, you fool,” Crowley said.

He grabbed Aziraphale and hugged him as tightly as Aziraphale had hugged him before. Aziraphale gripped his back, burying his face in his shoulder, laughing with relief.

“Of course I bloody love you,” Crowley said, kissing the side of Aziraphale’s head. “You tempted me long ago, angel.”

Aziraphale laughed harder.

“You tempted me first.”

Crowley’s cackle vibrated with a pleasant thrum throughout Aziraphale’s body.

“I’m not apologizing for that.”

“I would hope not.”


End file.
